


in other words

by freidacay



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bara Sans, Big Sans, Birthday Party, Dirty Talk, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, IM A SAP, Nightmares, Pet Names, tra la la beware the woman who is bad at tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-16 22:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5843416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freidacay/pseuds/freidacay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you pull apart, you give a shaky little breath. You open your eyes, and Sans is watching you intently. He looks as surprised as you feel. You can see the imprint of your lipstick on his teeth, and you're quick to wipe it away with your sleeve, drawing a laugh from him.</p><p>He lowers you gently. You groan inwardly at the loss of his touch when his gloved hands retreat back into his pockets.</p><p>"Wow." You murmur.</p><p>"Agreed." Sans says. "See you Saturday."</p><p>You blink, and he's gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in other words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Babushkah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babushkah/gifts).



> A gift for the lovely Babushka and Gwen, who both drew some great art for my fic suddenly, a smile!
> 
> Each "chapter" (I.E., the numbers) takes place after a time skip of like, a month. The format of this was borrowed from the 5 + 1 thing, but I've taken major liberties with the whole thing lol  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thanks for your patience, and please enjoy!

_1_

The new assistant manager at the cafe near your campus is a snake monster.

You wouldn't have known right away. He looks more like a lizard than anything—he's got arms, legs, and strangely enough, a tuft of red hair on top of his scaly green head. You figure it out soon enough once you first hear him talk. He can't help but draw out the "S" sound of every other word he speaks, and an odd vocal quirk turns every "th" sound into one short little huff.

(You remember desperately trying to swallow your giggles at hearing him introduce himself: "Welcome to Pittsssstop! I am Theodore, your friendly neighborhood helper! You'll never find a more apt ssssssssssssnake than me!")

The students love him. Something about the way he talks is both endearing and riotously funny, and it helps that he's always happy to put a smile on his customers' faces. There's also the added hilarity of him having the tendency to smile at a customer and then glare at his fellow workers just as quickly. He's a hoot. You'd always found time to visit Pittstop after a long day of difficult classes, but now you make it a point to do so.

Today, though, you're very surprised at the new addition to Pittstop's crew.

He's... a skeleton.

A very tall and wide skeleton, at that, with large hands and an even larger grin plastered onto his face.

Two bright pinpricks of light peer out from the darkness of his eye sockets, and they curiously lock onto your face as you make your way up to the counter. You blink owlishly up at him, which causes his grin to widen the tiniest bit.

Theodore perks up as you approach, welcoming you with a cheerful smile.

"Hi, Theodore," you greet him, "Who's this?"

"This is Sssssssssansssss! He'sssss an old friend of mine, and a new member of our team! I'm training him."

"Oh? That's great! Nice to meet you." You say, reaching your hand out to the new employee.

He takes your hand in his own, fingers strangely warm, and gives it a short shake. Your hand almost completely disappears from sight. He releases your hand just as quickly as he grabbed it.

"Hey," is all the new worker says, distant but not unkind. 

You nod at him, feeling just a bit awkward. Your hand is tingling.

Theodore takes your usual order, and you go on your merry way. You can feel Sans' eyes on your back as you leave. You decide you'll do your best to get on friendly terms with him.

You make it a point to speak to Sans each time you visit the cafe. The first month, the very best you can get out of him is senseless small talk. Once, you even mention the weather and kind of want to kick yourself. You feel a bit better when Sans admits he's unused to the seasonal changes of the surface. It leads to a fascinating conversation about weather in the Underground, which Theodore shuts down after a small line builds behind you. You're still smiling when you leave. Progress.

\--

"I think you look very good in your uniform," You tell Sans, one day.

It's not exactly a lie. You do find him strangely handsome. You'd never say it aloud, though. You're still trying to understand it yourself.

His sockets widen. You get the impression that this is his version of raising his eyebrows.

"Thanks," he mutters. It kind of sounds like a question. He glances down at his simple maroon work shirt and green apron, like he's searching for something.

You nod, terribly pleased with yourself.

From then on, you try to slip tiny compliments into every conversation. Sans is visibly unsure of how to react, but he accepts each with a crooked grin and a quietly nervous look on his face. 

Once, you ask him why he always smiles.

"I'm a skeleton, doll. Can't really help it." He answers.

You flush at the casual way he says the nickname. You detect a faint amusement coming from him, and quickly realize it was deliberate. (You also feel like you're being lied to.)

You're about to call him out for it, but Theodore comes lolloping up to Sans and hisses at him. "Make the young lady her coffee, pleasssse, Sssssannns!"

He winks at you on your way out.

\--

"Tell me a story?"

"What?" Sans laughs, as he rings you up. He trudges towards the machines lined up against the wall behind the front counter. 

"I'm not feeling too great." You explain. Exams are brutal and should be abolished, you think to yourself.

"Okay. Once upon a time, there was a human who was very friendly. She was pretty weird. Emphasis on pretty. And also weird. She kinda reminds me of another human I know." Sans says over his shoulder.

You prop your chin into your hand and grin.

"And?"

"And... She was really nice, and I liked seeing her every day. And see, I'm usually the kind of guy to deflect genuine niceness with bad humor, but I couldn't seem to think of anything whenever we talked. Guess you could say I'm smitten." He finishes.

His grin is smaller as he hands you your cup. Your fingers brush, and you choke a little.

"Yeah?" You ask, looking up at him.

"Yeah," he answers.

You leave in a bit of a rush.

\--

"Listen, about yesterday," Sans begins.

"When do you get off today?" You blurt out.

"Six, why?"

"We should get something to eat. Together. If you want." You grit out.

He doesn't say a word. The woman behind you clears her throat. You turn to face her, and peer at her with wide eyes.

"Just a minute." You say. 

You turn back to the counter and clasp your hands together.

"Oh my gosh, I totally misinterpreted you, didn't I? Please say something." You wheeze. You can feel your face heating up.

"Actually, my break is pretty soon. How about you stick around, and we can talk?" He asks, scratching at his chin. He's conveniently not meeting your eyes, and you feel a bit better at knowing you're not the only one who feels incredibly awkward.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that." You agree, nodding jerkily.

You slide into a booth, blessedly out of sight of most of the other patrons, who had been curiously eyeing you. You groan into your hands. 

In the end, you get a date, so it's not so bad. You're still embarrassed enough that you don't go back to Pittstop for at least a week.

(The date is wonderful.)

* * *

  _2_

"No way, Shenmue is a great game!" 

The look Sans gives you is so tired and unimpressed that you can't help laughing behind your hand.

"Nah. It's, uh, really not that great." Sans says, dismissively stuffing his hands into his pockets.

You clutch your chest and gasp in mock offense. He veers towards you and gently bumps into your side. You're quick to do the same, though he's much taller than you, so it's more like you bop your forehead into his upper arm. You jump at the opportunity to thread your arms through the space between his elbow and side. He's really warm.

He startles and looks down at you. After an awkward beat of silence, the two of you continue down the sidewalk. You smile into his sleeve.

"When I told you to play through that list of games, I didn't mean for you to diss my favorites. Shenmue's quick-time-events were groundbreaking." You tell him.

Sans gives a short laugh. "When it first came out, maybe. Now, it's just..."

"You wouldn't," you interject.

"...broken ground." He finishes, voice shaking with humor.

You groan to express your discontent, and his gravelly laughter follows. The two of you draw stares. You're both understanding of and irritated by the curiosity of the passersby. How often would they see a human woman walking with a strange-looking monster? How would they react if they knew he's walking you home from a date? If Sans notices the looks at all, he's doing a good job of ignoring them. With a twinge of sadness, you realize that he's probably used to it by now.

A month of dating has solidified an affection for Sans that continues to grow. He's sweet, he's funny, and above all, he's very caring. You're endlessly fascinated by his tales of life in the Underground, from his sleepy little town all covered in snow, to the labyrinth of the marshlands nearby. It's still amazing to you that such varying conditions can exist in a land deep underground. You always have to remind yourself that an entire race of magical people lived in that land, so perhaps it isn't so far fetched.

The two of you continue to discuss the crash course of pop culture you've been helping him through. Monsters aren't so out of touch—afterall, a lot of human trash found its way to the land below Mount Ebott—but it's still fascinating to watch someone experience these kinds of things firsthand.

"So. How did you like Forrest Gump?"

"Dude was better in Castaway. Uh. That _is_  the same guy, right?" He asks. You grin as you nod in confirmation.

"Sorry," Sans chuckles. "You humans all look the same at first glance, no offence. If I'm around you long enough, I can tell you apart. I could find you and Frisk in a crowd. Maybe my boss. But as a whole?" He shrugs.

"And the Hollywood humans? Double—" he finishes this statement with another shrug, and you laugh freely.

"Double shrug, huh?" You tease him, briefly lifting your own shoulders.

"Pretty much." He shrugs again. You copy him.

The two of you shrug your shoulders at each other, which pulls another delighted laugh from you.

"Well, I'm glad you'll remember my face." You say, patting his arm. You're a little bit more than glad, but you won't be telling him that.

You fall into a comfortable silence. For the rest of the walk, you take notice of a few things.

Sans' gaze is everywhere. It shifts down to your arms, then up to your face, and then up to the darkening sky, like he's contemplating something. You can tell the smile on his face is a genuine one. 

When the glances people shoot your way shift from curious to disgusted or angry—you note, with no small amount of disappointment, that this happens progressively more often the closer you get to campus—he will shift your positions until you're closer to his side and effectively out of sight. He's quiet about doing it, gently maneuvering you with a tug on the arm here and there, or an absently worded warning about deep puddles and wide cracks in the pavement. You're touched by the gesture, even though you're a little sad that he feels the need to do it at all.

"I had fun tonight." You tell him, once your destination is reached. You reluctantly disentangle yourself from his side, and walk ahead of him for a few paces. Your building is just in sight.

You turn around to face him.

"See you next week?" He offers.

"Saturday good?" You answer.

He nods, and then, in a fit of what feels a lot like stupidity, you ask, "Before you go, Sans, can I kiss you goodnight?"

There he goes again with the widening eye sockets, like if he had eyebrows they'd be climbing up his forehead at the speed of light. You let out a huffing laugh and look down at your feet.

"Sorry, that was pretty silly." You breathe out. 

"I mean. I just—it's not like I can really kiss you back, doll. Skeleton, and all that." He explains, pointing at his face. His usual grin wavers almost imperceptibly, and in the glow cast by a streetlight nearby, you can see a sheen of wetness on the curve of his skull.

"I know! You know what, it was dumb of me to ask. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Sans says. "Knock yourself out."

"Really?" You ask. He nods, and shortens the distance between you with two quick steps. He shoves his hands into his pockets, something you've come to recognize as a nervous habit.

You stand on your tiptoes. After a moment's hesitation, you curl your fingers around his forearms, fingers curling over the round surface of hard bone. His breath catches.

"You're really tall," you whisper, laughing nervously. In response, he bends down to accommodate the difference in your heights. Strangely enough, his sockets fall closed. You close your own eyes as you press your lips into Sans' grin.

After a beat, you guffaw at the odd sensation.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry." You snicker.

"Aw, come on." He laughs. You can feel the vibrations through his teeth. "Throw me a bone, here. I'm trying."

"Shut up, I'm sorry." You try and fail to swallow your amusement. You feel a bit better when Sans lets out a snort.

Once the giggles die down, you try again. Sans presses his face into yours. You hear the rustling of fabric, and then his warm palms are cradling your hips to pull you close.

Intent is everything, you suppose, because soon enough you're lost in the odd heat radiating off his body. Every rise and fall of his chest presses the hard round surface of his ribs. He smells, oddly enough, of a faint musk, tomatoes, and dollar store soap, the kind with the aggressively strong perfumes. It all mixes together, and on any other person it would be off-putting. You curl your hands into the soft fur of his coat's jacket and move as close as you possibly can.

When you pull apart, you give a shaky little breath. You open your eyes, and Sans is watching you intently. He looks as surprised as you feel. You can see the imprint of your lipstick on his teeth, and you're quick to wipe it away with your sleeve, drawing a laugh from him.

He lowers you gently. You groan inwardly at the loss of his touch when his gloved hands retreat back into his pockets.

"Wow." You murmur.

"Agreed." Sans says. "See you Saturday."

You blink, and he's gone.

* * *

  _3_

When Sans asks you to attend Frisk's twelfth birthday party, you're delighted and more than a little nervous. Otherwise, you don't think much of it beyond the basics. You buy a gift, you set an outfit aside, and things are business as usual.

Well, everything except Sans' random warnings.

"Stay close to me at the party, okay?" He had said, after you agreed to join him. You had been confused, but you agreed.

"Don't talk to Mettaton about fashion." He says, in the middle of a movie.

"What?" You ask.

"He'll overwhelm you faster than you can say 'ohh, yes!'" Sans continues, completely serious.

You guffaw at him and throw a popcorn kernel at his head. He lets out a playful growl and wrestles you down onto the couch. When the two of you come up for air, the credits are rolling.

Tiny little warnings like this continue for the entire week.

You are expressly forbidden to shake Undyne's hand. Grillby wouldn't burn you, but you still shouldn't shake his hand either, just to be safe. You should mention you have something to do if Muffet tries to sell you something. You've actually met Papyrus, who is sweet as the day is long and even more energetic, and Sans still warns you not to get trapped in the kitchen with him. (After a round of glitter encrusted spaghetti the first time such a thing happened, you're pretty sure you don't need to be warned twice.)

Flowey's friendliness pellets aren't actually all that friendly. Frisk is a giant flirt and shouldn't be encouraged. Rupert the bear will make you uncomfortable with his talk of politics. The bunnies will try to feed you. Or leash you. Don't show anybody your socks because it's improper. And so on, and so forth. Only Toriel and Alphys are given the proverbial stamp of approval. It doesn't help your nerves much.

\--

"Honestly, Sans, I feel like I should have been taking notes!" You confess, on the day of the party.

You're both standing in front of Toriel and Frisk's cozy little house. It looks like something from a children's book, not too small and not too big, complete with a cute front-yard garden and a brick path leading up to the front door. There are balloons placed outside. If you listen close enough, you can hear the excited chatter of the people inside.

"I uh, kinda went overboard, didn't I?" Sans seems both amused and sheepish.

 "Just a little," you agree, playfully wrinkling your nose as you nod in agreement.

He places a hand on your lower back and guides you forward.

"The thing is, we haven't all had the best experiences when it comes to humans. That's why I was so distant when we first met. And, uh, I guess I'm afraid of the crew trying to test you, or something? But I want them to meet you. You—" he pauses, and glances away for a moment.

"I what?" You ask, reaching up to direct his face back towards you. Just then, the sound of a door slamming draws your attention.

A gangly youth stands in the doorway of the house. They let out an excited cry and dart forward. They're a brown-haired, olive-skinned blur, and Sans easily catches them underneath their arms and spins them. You smile at the sound of their delighted laughter.

"Hey, kiddo! Geez, you get heavier every day, oh man. Hey, easy, Frisk!" Sans laughs, as they playfully punch him in the shoulder.

They lean back just far enough to begin signing rapidly, pausing only to nod or shake their head in response to Sans' questions and comments.

They're expressive, moving with big, all-encompassing gestures, swaying back and forth in the cradle of Sans' arms like they've done it a thousand times before. They continue signing even as Sans places them on the ground. After a short conversation with Sans, they point at you, raising their eyebrows.

"Yeah, that's her." Sans answers. You smile and wave, thinking to yourself that you should probably learn sign language.

Frisk brings their hand up, and then quickly moves it over their face in a quick, rounded movement. They're grinning at you.

Sans snorts, "Frisk says you're beautiful."

"Aren't you a charmer? You don't look half bad yourself!" You reply, honestly flattered.

Frisk taps their chin with their fingertips and then brings their hand out towards you.

"Thank you," Sans translates. 

With a wink, Frisk dashes back into the house.

Sans gives you an amused glance. "You just opened the flood gates, babe."

\--

The party goes like this:

You ditch Sans with a quick kiss on his cheekbone, completely sure that you can handle yourself on your own. Then, you make it a point to speak to every monster you come across. They're a fascinating people in that they can be so varied in appearance, all the while sharing a few traits. None of of them are unkind, but they watch  you with a justifiably wary eye, and some of them even approach you to learn a bit about you.

The children (you notice they're all wearing striped shirts) are more brazen than their counterparts, asking you hilarious questions about how the human body works. They're especially disgusted by digestion, leaving you with a chorus of scandalized "ew"s and shrieking giggles.

Toriel is sweet. She gives you a warm greeting and, oddly enough, she welcomes you to the family. You sputter, unsure of how to react. She lets out a hearty laugh and plucks your gift from your hands, saving you the need to answer. You're grateful.

Alphys seems so nervous to meet you that she's close to tears. Sans has informed you that this is how she acts a majority of the time, but you still feel bad.

Undyne slings an arm over Alphys' shoulders and hits you with a round of cheerfully invasive questions. How old are you? Where are you from? Is Sans just a bit of fun to you? How do you feel about anime girls? Once she decides your answers are satisfactory, she takes your hand with such a strong grip you're sure you can feel your eyes smarting.

You continue on like this, shaking hands and answering questions. Every now and then, you'll pass Sans, who looks worried, and Frisk, who cheekily makes finger guns at you.

None of the other monsters are as over-the-top as Sans made them out to be, and you haven't even met them all, but you still feel so overwhelmed that you beg Toriel to be allowed to rest somewhere.

She guides you to the kitchen. There's a tall table placed in the far corner, with bar stools surrounding it. One stool is occupied by a feathered monster, whose head is pillowed in one arm. Their other arm is stretched out, their hand curled around a glass of punch.

The other bar stool, confusingly enough, is taken by a flowerpot with a single golden flower in it. You slide onto the seat farthest from the both of them and take a deep breath.

"Oh, man." You whisper.

"Whozzat?" The monster squaks. They sit up with a ruffle of their bright red feathers. They turn their lazy eyes on you, large yellow bill twitching rhythmically.

 "Sorry!" You wince. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"Nah. It's cool, sweet cheeks," The bird says, and then they pause.

"Hey, you're Sans' girl, right?" They ask. "I recognize you from that picture."

You could swear that you glimpse the flower between the two of you move in your peripheral, but you don't give it much thought.

"Yeah. I'm his girl," You answer, bringing a hand up to your face to hide your growing smile. A picture? What picture?

The monster grins at you. "Boy, does he talk about you a lot. Whenever he stops by Grillby's, it's 'my girl' this, and 'my girl' that. I don't think he talks about anybody else that much, sans his brother. Pun not intended, heh."

Delighted, you rest your elbows on the table and lean forward. You introduce yourself.

"Name's Red." The monster says.

"Red? Tell me everything." You whisper.

\--

"... And then Sans says, 'Well gee, I don't know man. Humans are pretty soft. You should try—"

"Eyyyyyyyyyy, okay, that's enough. Man, I knew I'd regret leaving you alone."  Sans interjects.

He's done that thing where he's suddenly somewhere he wasn't moments before, like he was actually lways there and somehow, you just failed to notice him at first. 

You jump in your seat. "You've got to stop doing that!" 

Red howls with laughter. "Took me some time to get used to it, too."

Sans laughs, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head. "Looks like I did it just in time. Anyway, Frisk is about to open gifts so uh, yeah."

Even through his obvious nervousness, Sans greets Red with a fist bump. He stares down at the flower, and his crooked grin becomes rigid.

"Bet you loved listening in on that, huh?"

"Your words, not mine," a dry, tinny voice says, and you jump yet again. 

Oh, right. Flowey. In your rush to get dirt from Red (and, earlier, in your mild panic), you had completely forgotten to look out for him. From what Sans has told you about him, you're surprised he stayed silent throughout your entire conversation. You suppose he wanted to get dirt on Sans, too.

"What'd you do to get Frisk to banish you this time?" Sans asks. He's met with a markedly passive-aggressive silence, so he shrugs and holds out a hand for you.

You accept it, glancing curiously at Flowey. He looks up at you with surprisingly tired eyes. You give him what you hope is an encouraging smile. He looks away.

"Flowey here had a, uh, lil' outburst. I offered to watch him." Red explains.

"Well, I don't think Frisk would want you to miss the presents or the cake, so I'm officially un-banning you." Sans tells Flowey. Flowey scoffs.

You slide your fingers through Sans', and then slot yourself against his side. He smiles down at you. Red scoops Flowey's pot up, and the two of them leave the kitchen.

"So, what's the verdict. Is that bone boy Snas a total weirdo, or what?" Sans murmurs in your ear. 

"Nah," you answer. "He's always really sweet to me. I'm starting to care about him more every day. And I'm relieved that he feels the same way." 

"I—well. Shucks." Sans ducks his head. You're still chuckling when you lean up on your tip toes to kiss his cheekbone yet again.

("He cares about ya a great deal, you know." Red had said, swirling their punch around in their cup. "He's been through a lot. Do me a favor and be sweet to him, yeah?")

* * *

_4_

At first, you hadn't given much thought to sex. Wondering thoughts, mostly the product of boredom, had lead you to considering the logistics of the whole thing. When it came down to it, though, sex isn't really what you were after when it came to Sans. You weren't even completely sure that he was interested in it. 

As the months pass, though, there are clues. He's always receptive of kisses, sometimes even eager for them. You haven't missed the way he chases your lips, sometimes, hands warm on the curve of your hips as he pulls you close.

His hands wander, as well. You're pretty sure that at first, a large part of it stemmed from genuine scientific curiosity—Sans is an inquisitive person, beneath the veneer of cheerful apathy he wears like a shield. If he wants to know something, he asks questions. How tall are you? How old are you? Why are human men narrow and the woman soft? What exactly is the purpose of your hair? He explores with his hands as well as his questions, and you have always been a willing guinea pig, if only for the chance to be close to him.

It's hard not to take note of the way his palms will linger at the area beneath your breasts, or the dip in your lower back. You like to reciprocate, because you are just as curious as he is. trailing your hand over an exposed clavicle here, or his carpals, which are usually hidden by gloves of some sort, he'll tense up and gently redirect you.

Mixed signals aren't fun, so you decide to just ask him outright if he wants to have sex with you.

"Wow, babe. In the middle of movie night? Hey, don't hit me!" He snickers. "But, uh. Would you be mad if I said 'Yeah, a whole lot?'"

You let out a relieved laugh. "Not terribly, no."

"Great," Sans answers. "I've actually been researching... Things."

"Oh my gosh, you haven't been!" You're both scandalized and oddly pleased by the confession. He reaches out to pinch your cheek, and you laughingly bat his hand away.

"Is that bad?" He mumbles, reaching for your hand.

"Not at all. But I'm wondering, how would that work for you, anyway? Would you be able to feel anything?" You ask, reaching forward for the DVD player's remote. The movie's not exactly appropriate background noise, so you cut it off.

"Magic can do a lot of things." He tells you, his thumb rubbing small circles into the back of your hand.

He conducts his explorations without the barrier of your clothes, this time. You decide that you're going to have sleepovers more often.

\--

Sans is fond of trying different things, as much as he likes to pretend he doesn't, and this is a truth about him that carries over to the bedroom.

He likes trying to make you cum in different ways. Sometimes it's as simple as working his fingers on your clit as he whispers in your ear, or a rough twist of your nipple when he's got his head between your thighs, his glowing blue tongue—and hadn't that been a surprise?—delving into your folds. He bends you over tables and slides one hand up your shirt and the other into your panties. He's no virgin, but you're the first human he's ever been with. You're grateful he's a fast learner.

When he's impatient, he takes you from behind with his palm pressed into your lower belly, cock stroking deep into your sensitive spot. On the days when you have time to indulge, he'll place a pillow beneath your bottom, sling your legs over his shoulders, and take you hard and slow. He'll slide his hands into yours when he does this, and press his face into the crook of your shoulder, his moans muffled by your wet skin. You like it like this the most, because you can feel his front pressed completely into yours, hard and unyielding but no less enrapturing for it. You wake up in the mornings covered in marks and bruises, which you have to find creative ways to cover. 

Sans is sensitive in certain places—his clavicles, the underside of his ribs near the sternum (he sheepishly confesses this area in particular is sensitive enough to border on pain, which is why he likes it), his lumbar vertebrae, and his tailbone. You send him into a shuddering orgasm when you stroke the underside his ribs while grinding against his pubic bone, which only serves to set you off as well. From then on, he's always gentle about redirecting your hands away from his sensitive spots, which is mildly frustrating. He usually quiets most of your complaints with tongue and fingers.

\--

"I want you make you feel good, too," You tell him, after several attempts at returning the favor are met with quiet refusal.

"You do." Sans laughs.

"You know what I mean!" You protest, smacking his arm. In retaliation, Sans slides a finger up your wet slit, dipping into your entrance and then sliding up to your clit, still sensitive from an earlier release. He gently circles the hardened nub. You hiss, your hips rolling into the movement.

"Haven't you realized? The magic I use when we're together? That's an extension of my soul. When I taste you, when I'm inside you and I make you cum, I can feel it too, in my own way." He hums.

He shifts until he's between your thighs and lines his cock up with your entrance. You're wet and relaxed and more than ready, and he slides inside with one smooth thrust, groaning lowly from the chest as he bottoms out. You wrap your arms around him and hold on tight, one hand curling on his clavicle, the other gripping the arch of his pelvis to bring him in. His bones are slick from his sweat and your fingers slide over their hard surface, making him shudder. He plants his hands into the mattress for leverage, and he starts up a quick rhythm. It's just the calm before the storm, you know, a way to give you a quick but unsatisfying release so you're more receptive for the next round, but you love it.

You love the drag of his cock, stretching you wide, the way the curve of his pubic bone presses right into your throbbing clit, and the curses that leave his mouth with every cry that falls from your lips.

"This is all I need from you, baby. Knowing you feel good. Seeing you like this, taking me so deep." He growls, his head dipping low to watch where you're joined. You have half a mind to cover your face—you always get flustered when he inspects your body so closely—but you know how much he revels in the sight of the two of you together. 

You let out a horse cry of protest when he slips out of you, your hands scrabbling at his shoulders. He laughs at your discontented moans, voice thick with arousal. He moves up onto his knees, his hands guiding your hips so he can rest your bottom in the cradle of his lap. You slide your hands over your face and into your sweaty hair. He slides the shaft of his cock between your lips, so it glides across your clit, pulling you into a slow grind.

"Don't you like it when I make you feel good?" He asks.

"Yes," you gasp, kicking your legs in frustration. He's lifted you just enough that you can't plant your feet unless you want to strain something, and your movement is restricted by his grasp. The sensation of his thick member moving between your lips is both too much and not enough, because you're twitching with the need to be filled, and the stimulation of your clit isn't enough to bring you to orgasm. 

"I like hearing your little noises. I like the way you gasp when I lick you, and how you grunt when you're cumming and you have to be quiet for me." He sounds almost conversational, like he's looking back on fond memories, but his rhythm is tellingly jerky, and you can't miss the way his eyes are fixed on your face each time you screw your eyes open.

"Sans, p-please, I'm so close," you babble.

Wrecked whimpers are rising in your throat, sounds that will probably embarrass you after the fact, but for now, you're swept up in your desperation.

"Are you gonna cum for me, baby? Are you gonna cum on my cock?" He growls.

It's hard to form words. You fist your hands in the sheets and throw your head back. "Yes, please, please, it's not enough, I can't—"

Your words trail off into a particularly loud moan when he shifts and thrusts back inside. You flutter around him with the abrupt reentry. Your walls are tightening. His thrusts are quick and shallow, and 

"Touch yourself, baby, let me see you. Good girl," Sans praises you, as you press your fingers into your clit, pulling the hood back to rub intent circles into the throbbing head. You can feel his cock delving into you, slick with your wet and his own. You squeeze tightly each time he bottoms out, which earns you throaty curses scattered with praise.

You cum with a few passes of your fingers, tossing your head to the side and letting out a series of choking moans through each contraction.

"That's it, just like that, pretty girl," Sans groans. " _Fuck._ "

He follows suit just as your climax is tapering off, his chin pressed against his sternum. You wrap your arms around him when he plops down onto the bed, jolting in surprise when his cock disappears with a small pop. You squeeze your thighs together to relieve the sudden feeling of emptiness, though the pleasant warmth left behind isn't a bad replacement.

"No more of that," Sans says, caressing your side, "Okay? Just let me take care of you."

It's not the end of the argument by a long shot, and there are honestly worse things to argue about, but you're tired and you want to enjoy your afterglow.

"Okay," you acquiesce, snuggling close to him.

* * *

_+1_

It's the talking that wakes you up.

You're not exactly what most people would call a light sleeper, but with enough movement and noise, you're up with the best of them.

In your groggy state, you reach for Sans. The mattress is still warm, but he isn't there.

"...real funny, G. Pranked from the void, haha freaking ha, now please retreat back into your peaceful nonexistence so I can sleep some—"

"Sans?" You call out. "Where are you? It's so dark."

A bit of the darkness before you shifts, and soon enough, a familiar glowing eye comes into view.

"Sans, your eye." You say.

He curses. "Sorry. Did I wake you up?"

He joins you on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and the heat that always seems to radiate off of him returns. You hadn't noticed its absence.

You throw an arm over his side and snuggle up to him, pressing your head underneath his chin He draws you in, grip tight. He's shaking.

"Are you okay?" You ask, mildly alarmed.

"It's nothing. Just a nightmare. I'm okay. Can you just. Talk to me?"

So you tell him about your day before you came to visit. You tell him about your cooky professor, the one who hates the texture of printer paper in particular, and enjoys sitting on top of his file cabinets so he can peer owlishly down at his students. You tell him about the couple you saw in the cafe today, one human man and a smiling rabbit monster, and how they'd given you hope. You talk about the grocery shopping you did, and how it's a bad idea to do as such on an empty stomach. Anything that comes to mind, you talk about it until your voice starts to slur from sleep.

"Go back to sleep, babe."

"Mmm... Are you okay now?" You mumble.

"Nah. Hey. I love you, you know?" His voice gets softer which each word. You can almost feel his wince.

And maybe it's because he's worn you out and you're exhausted and generally happy to be here, but it's so easy to say, "Yeah, I love you, too."

You mean it, too, wholeheartedly, and if you were more awake it'd be like a punch to the face. 

The last thing you see before sleep takes you is Sans' smiling face.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the fic, which is completely unrelated to the story lmfao, comes from Fly Me To The Moon. What? I've been replaying Bayonetta. I like Grace Potter's version the best though. ([x](https://youtu.be/LwuV87upqEM))
> 
> This was initially two separate fics focusing on what each artist said they'd like to see, but I started going overboard on both and decided to merge them. Then I went overboard and wrote this! And I still didn't cover everything I wanted to! Just shoot me tbh
> 
> Sorry again for how much time I took on this, guys. Life kind of punched me in the face. Please share any thoughts! If I left any mistakes behind, please please please tell me so I can fix them asap. I've read this literally so many times I can't look at it without automatically skimming, and I just did the final edit while very sleepy.
> 
> (PS: I made a small reference in this one.)


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